Returning the Favor
by Stealth Dragon
Summary: They're always in the habit of saving each other's lives. It's Rodney's turn now.


**Returning The favor**

by

Stealth Dragon

Rating: T for violence, blood, torture etc.

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate: Atlantis and am making no profit writing these stories. So it would be pretty dumb to sue me.

Summary: They are always saving each other's lives. It's McKay's turn now.

A/N: My Internet was down and I was feeling whump deprived, so whipped out a whumpy fic. I apologize if the plot comes across as a bit cliché. I tired to keep it from happening.

SGA

"_I can't feel my legs, Rodney."_

The words echoed in his head like a gunshot, but its the image of a half naked Sheppard, bloody, bruised and broken, crawling across the floor shocked verging on terrified that has burned like acid into McKay's brain. He consoles the both of them with maybes.

"Maybe your spine is just bruised." It's a good maybe as far as Rodney's concerned since John's back really is just bruised, not mutilated by a knife wound or bullet hole. What weakens the 'maybe' is the possibility that it isn't the numerous blows to Sheppard's spine shutting his legs off, but the numerous drugs pumped into his veins. Drugs that made him wild, docile, angry, afraid, limp, psychotic, and an all around insomniac for one week straight.

Rodney's gratitude that the drugs leading to starvation making his friend a few pounds lighter isn't consolation, its fuel for extreme guilt. But he can't help it. McKay barely has any strength left to continue carrying John on his back through the increasing rubble in a shredded city right smack in the middle of a civil war.

Rodney's grateful for that war, and didn't feel a damn inkling of guilt for it. These people deserved it.

McKay staggered and lurched around slabs of stone, broken golf-carts (no way was going to call the tiny vehicles cars), and general tid-bits of a once-industrial society. Every breath scraped his lungs, stabbed his cracked ribs, and he would sell his soul for some water. His heart was pumping in a way that didn't feel right, out of time to the more fluttering beats of Sheppard's heart tapping against his shoulder blade.

"McKay?" Sheppard's breath brushed foul across Rodney's cheek, smelling faintly of blood and vomit. "Maybe you should rest."

"Maybe you should turn your head," Rodney snapped back, "before your breath knocks me out."

"You don't exactly smell like a bunch or roses yourself, McKay. So just save your own breath or stop and catch it. You keel over and we're both screwed."

Rodney snorted and opened his mouth to retort, only to snap it shut and whip his head around at the clattering, reverberating clomp of marching footfalls.

"Crap!" Rodney jerked his shoulders, hefting Sheppard higher, then took off at a scuttle into the nearest structure, ducking behind the largest pile of rubble he could find complete with a small alcove like a shallow cave. He was avoiding buildings since that's where the soldiers always went first, and Rodney wasn't in the mood for more interrogations.

Or a possible skip of the interrogations moving straight on to the executions. Rodney crouched letting Sheppard slide to the ground, then sat with his back against the sharp debris, pulling John's body across his legs to place his hand on his back and share a little warmth. Not that Sheppard needed it. The heat from his skin was bleeding through Rodney's pants to his thighs. McKay simply liked the reassurance that came with each rapid, shallow breath spreading the ribs he could feel way too easily beneath his hands.

"Resting," Rodney panted. "Happy?"

"Very," Sheppard gasped.

McKay tilted his head back. "At this rate, we'll make it to the gate by sundown... in 2020."

John coughed. "Stow it with the pessimism, McKay. I'd like to have something to look forward to." Minor muscle tremors were vibrating the overheated skin. Rodney pulled his head up to look down at the bruise spread over the majority of Sheppard's lower back. He was tempted, again, to probe the area and check for breaks as he had done determining the severity of Sheppard's busted ribs. But those had been ribs, harmless little sticks of bone. He wasn't even sure if any breaks in the backbone could be felt. Definitely not the spine, Rodney was pretty sure of that, as well as that any poking would probably exacerbate the problem if lugging Sheppard around already hadn't.

"How's the withdrawal?" Rodney asked.

John pulled in a shuddering breath. "It's not withdrawal, Rodney. It's side-affects. And they still hurt."

"But it's been a whole day!"

"Day and a half. We slipped out at midnight... I think."

Rodney dropped his head back, bumped it into something hard, and winced. "Ow, damn it! I would think side-affects wouldn't last this long."

Sheppard didn't respond. Already panicking, Rodney felt ready to have a heart attack and shook Sheppard's shoulder, hard. "Sheppard? Colonel!"

"Rodney, cut it out! I'm not dead just... tired. So pipe down, get some rest." His words trailed off and his rapid breathing slowed a fraction to eventually even out.

Rodney huffed. He wanted to argue the futility of sleeping in the middle of a war zone but his brain wasn't up to it. Sleep might not be possible. Dozing in a lethargic, in-between state was. Except he didn't want to. No matter what he tried to think, his mind kept slipping back to events that he would prefer to forget. Letting down his mental guards made it happen too easy and too fast, especially with nothing to distract him from the broken body burning up with fever under his hands.

------------------------------

"_We don't even know who the freakin' Calafrians are, so just let him the hell go!"_

_Rodney raised his heavy head wobbling on a limpid neck and regarded Sheppard's wild-eyed stare with the pin-prick pupils. Add to that dry blood, dirt, and pale skin in between, and the effect was quite scary. Sheppard didn't just look ready to kill, he looked ready to disembowel._

_The man in the gray-green jump-suit slammed his fist into Rodney's stomach. McKay doubled up as much as being tied to a chair would allow him. The result was for Sheppard to make another attempt at lurching from his own chair with a snarl._

"_I'm gonna kill you people, you hear me?! You're freakin' dead if you touch him again!"_

"_We wouldn't have to do this if you'd just confess," said another man in another uni-suit uniform. There was no 'innocent until proven guilty' here. It was guilty until they said otherwise, and they weren't going to be saying otherwise any time soon. _

_Rodney's abuser drove his elbow into his jaw. _

_Sheppard went ballistic, jerking against his restraints and pulling until his wrists bled."You're dead, you're freakin' dead!" _

_The second man waved an indifferent hand. "Take them back."_

_Rodney's bonds were cut and his abuser plus one other dragged him back to the tiny metal cell. Sheppard came kicking and screaming a minute later. The door barely shut in time when Sheppard started slamming himself against it, over and over, shrieking high-pitched and inhuman. When John backed up for the next go, McKay stretched out his legs and tripped him. The Colonel was fast about scrabbling back to his feet until Rodney rolled on top of him, pinning him._

"_Sheppard, calm down," he slurred through swollen lips. "There's no point. You're just going to hurt yourself." He said the words because it was something to say. Sheppard was too out of it to really listen, but weakened enough by his own tirade to keep from bucking Rodney off no matter how much he squirmed. The food may have sucked to the point of both men losing weight, but the drugs sped it up for John, making Rodney the heavier body. _

_John clawed, kicked, and writhed until he exhausted himself, and only then did Rodney roll off to curl up on the floor. It was ten, maybe twenty minutes later when when he felt himself being tugged at, then his head and upper body pulled onto a bony lap. It was their way of sharing the warmth while one of them kept watch since the guards liked to make surprise visits._

_A shaking hand squeezed Rodney's shoulder. "Sorry, McKay."_

"_S'okay," Rodney murmured. He felt Sheppard's body shift when the man dropped to the side and started heaving._

McKay jerked awake with a small gasp. It was either still daylight or a new day: smoke-gray, overcast, and stinking of burnt meat and bad body oder. It was also blessedly silent. No explosions, no shouts, no screams of rage or pain. Either the Anonans lost, the Calafrians lost, it was a stalemate, or the fighting had been taken to another part of the city.

Rodney looked down at Sheppard's filthy back a patchwork of bruises, cuts, scabs, burns and bones pressing against skin. The burns were small, almost perfectly round...

_They yanked off Sheppard's shirt, flipped him onto his stomach, holding him down by the shoulders. _

"_What are the Calafrians planning?"_

_Rodney couldn't speak so he just shook his head. The Anonans had their own version of a cigarette, kind of between a cigar and cigarette. Clouds of putrid, acidic smoke clouded the interrogator's face. He knelt next to John and ground the red end of the cancer-stick into Sheppard's shoulder blade. The colonel didn't scream. He grunted, growled, moaned but he never screamed._

"_When is their next attack?"_

_Rodney was breathing fast, heading toward hyperventilation. "I don't know," he squeaked. "Don't you get that? I have no damn idea. We didn't even know what the name of this stupid planet was!"_

_Maybe it was the use of the word "stupid", but the interrogator dug the cherry end of the still-hot cigarette into Sheppard's other shoulder blade with relish, keeping it there until John whimpered. He then lit another stick and dotted John's back with a few more burns before flipping him over and placing a knife to the pilot's chest right below the hollow of his throat._

"_Do I need to cut out his heart? Is that what it will take?" He put pressure on the knife. A bead of blood fattened out of the wound. John grunted, choking back a scream._

Rodney sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes. Back and forth, that's how they were both tortured, and both made witnesses to torture. Sheppard got pissed, Rodney panicked. One would think that between the two of them the Anonan's would be a little more open to the idea that these two strangers might not be Calafrian spies after all.

Not even the Genii had been this paranoid.

Rodney shook Sheppard's shoulder. "Time to go, just so you know." He breathed out in relief at the responding groan. McKay tried to be careful, laying John on the ground then sitting and leaning back until Sheppard was able to pull himself onto Rodney's back by taking a handful of shirt. Dirty, bony arms draped across Rodney's chest, the right hand clasping the left wrist. With a grunt, Rodney wobbled his way back to his feet and lurched into a staggering walk, grasping John's arms below the elbows.

"You happy?" Rodney grunted between clenched teeth. "I'm getting that exercise you keep nagging me about."

"I don't nag," Sheppard replied, "I remind."

"You make disparaging comments concerning doughy scientists being a liability to the team."

"That was Ronon."

"Well, you didn't exactly go out of your way to stick up for me."

"That's because you work better under pressure and insults. So pick up the pace, Pilsbury."

Rodney ground his teeth. "I swear, if this wasn't a life or death situation, I'd drop you right here, right now. Then, when Elizabeth asks me why the hell I didn't bring you back, I'd tell her 'the idiot told me to leave him behind, at gun point. Even shot at me. So how the hell could I say no to that?' Ow!" He jerked his shoulders when Sheppard pinched his chest. "You're pushing it, Colonel!"

"Then don't call me an idiot. Besides, Ronon really was saying all that crap to motivate you. It's how the guy shows concern. Hell, he does it to me all the time after recovery to get me running again. Says if I don't I'll be picked up and carried away by the next gust of wind."

Rodney smirked. "But at the time it's true. Look, just because I'm not bone and muscle like you doesn't mean I'm a wimp."

"Never said you were. Everyone needs exercise, Rodney. It's good for the heart and mind. But some people need a little more motivating than others, that's all. You're not weak, but your heart could stand some fortification against all that coffee you inhale. You're drinking your way to an early grave in stimulants."

"Barring if I don't get killed first by angry natives."

"True."

Rodney followed a haphazard path around burnt debris that used to be the trappings of people's lives. It was funny in a not-funny way how fast the destruction came, like a single giant wave washing everything out in one blow. And yet, if it hadn't been for that wave, he and Sheppard would probably be in the middle of another torture session... or dead.

Sheppard was better at this torture thing. It wasn't that Rodney thought the man didn't feel fear. The guy was a kick-ass soldier with a high-pain tolerance and intelligence, but he was still human. Thinking back on it now, Rodney was pretty sure all of Sheppard's back-talking and violent reactions (not caused by the drugs) were his coping mechanisms. Rodney had his high-pitched rambling and problem solving, Sheppard had his bad-attitude and big-mouth.

Rodney preferred it to the look of hurt terror when Sheppard's facade cracked.

_Sheppard shoved Rodney back against the wall and crouched in front of him just as the door swung out and two uniformed guards waltzed in. John smiled crookedly._

"_My turn, right?"_

_The two guards advanced, reaching out. Sheppard spread his arms, crowding Rodney, making him a more difficult target to grab._

"_Yeah, you already tenderized McKay so it's my turn now. Check your list, I'm pretty sure -" he was cut off by a rifle butt being slammed into his chest. Sheppard was grabbed and flung aside, then Rodney was grabbed to be dragged from the cell._

"_No! You already had him! Take me! Take me, damn it, take me!"_

_Rodney looked up in time to catch the wide-eyed and gaping expression of horror never before seen on Lt. Colonel Sheppard's face. John leaped forward to grab Rodney's wrist to try and tug him back. A hard boot to the ribs sent him sprawling. _

"_You'll have your chance," the guard said, heavy on the indifference as though this were the dullest job in the world. The last thing Rodney saw was Sheppard's lingering look of horror._

Rodney licked his dry lips.

"_I can't feel my legs, Rodney."_

That had been the second time. John hadn't tried to hide it then. No point. They already knew they were screwed and that had been the final straw for Sheppard.

Rodney was distracted from all morbid reminiscing by an onset of vibrations at his back.

"R-Rodney?"

"Yeah, Sheppard?"

"I'm... c-cold."

Rodney stopped and furrowed his brow. "What!" There was no way Sheppard could be cold, not with the heat pouring off him, cooking Rodney's back right through his shirt. But so went the ways of fevers. They defied all laws of nature and science which was why the whole medical profession tended to piss him off. Well, that, and how it sometimes took Carson weeks to realize that that little cough was actually pneumonia.

Rodney sighed. "Well, there's nothing I can do about it. You have a fever and if I cover you up it'll only make it worse. Maybe being cold will help bring it down."

Sheppard's response was his teeth chattering.

Most of the day inched by with no shouts or numerous footfalls cracking the silence. McKay's head and ribs were throbbing to the tune of his struggling heart, and he was so thirsty his throat kept sticking together every time he swallowed. He had officially reached a 'what the hell' moment, and veered toward the nearest building he hoped had been an apartment complex at one time.

"Snack time, Sheppard," Rodney announced, gasping with each step he took leading up to the stoop. "I'm going... to look for... food."

Sheppard's body jerked in a dry cough. "Good-d idea. You p-probably need f-food."

"And you need food and liquids. But knowing you when you feel like crap, it'll just be liquids."

Once Rodney was inside the building and through the lobby into the nearest corridor, he turned and kicked in the nearest door. The apartment was still fairly clean, if a little dusty and decorated in broken glass. Rodney hauled Sheppard into what passed as a living room with no windows and laid him flat on the hard floor shoving a throw pillow under his head. "You need to keep yourself as immobile as possible."

John coughed again. "L-little late for that, don't you th-think?"

"Now who's being a pessimist? You never know. Just do your spine a favor and keep still. I'll be looting the kitchen."

Rodney eased up slowly off the floor, straightening little by little to work the kinks out of his back. He hurried to the kitchen, yanking open a very earth-like refrigerator to begin pulling out palatable looking food. The fridge still retained some of its chill, meaning most of the food should still be good, so long as most of what was inside was food and not someone's school science project (woeful times in the McKay household, especially with dinner-parties in the making). Rodney filled his arms to capacity and hustled back into the living room, dumping everything onto the padded chair. He sniffed at the blue-tinted liquid that smelled like grapes, which weren't citrus. He dropped a little on the back of his hand just to play it safe, and when his hand didn't burn or welt-up, he gulped the liquid down.

It even tasted like grapes, and, thankfully, without the burn of alcohol which would have been counterproductive. He then took the juice to John, lifting his head enough for him to drink it.

"Not bad," Sheppard said, smacking his lips. "B-better than earth g-grape j-juice." He eyed Rodney suspiciously. "It is j-juice, right? Not a-alc-cohol?"

"Already thought of that, and no. It would have more of a burn."

"Maybe this w-world's v-version of wine d-doesn't h-have a b-bite?"

"Alcohol is nothing more than fermented plant matter of some kind, and I've yet to encounter any that doesn't have some kind of bite." He set the juice aside and turned back to the padded chair to dig through the food. He sniffed, poked, even nibbled until he found something worth risking his digestion over. There was a wedge of blue-green something with the consistency and flavor of swiss-cheese, slabs of brown meat like roast, even bread and an orange sauce with a tang like spicy mustard. Naturally, he slapped it all together and made himself a sandwich, piecing a smaller sandwich together for John.

"I know you're probably not hungry, but try and eat something anyways," Rodney said, then took a massive bite of his food, moaning in pure gastronomic bliss.

John gave him an odd look, breaking off a small chunk of his own sandwich and popping it into his mouth. He had finally stopped shivering now that he was out of the elements. "McKay, you're being obscene."

"I don't care if I'm making unseemly noises buck-naked in front of an audience. I've earned my treat, damn it, and I'm going to enjoy it."

Sheppard twisted his mouth ruefully. "Just... try to enjoy more quietly, will you?" He took two more bites, then set the sandwich aside, dropping his head back to the floor. "I'm done."

Rodney glared. "You sure? Because I can still see all your bones."

John flapped his hand in dismissal. "I'm done, and weight gain doesn't happen after one sandwich."

'I was hoping your stomach would look less like a crater,' Rodney thought, but couldn't bring himself to say it.

_Sheppard grabbed the bowls as soon as they were shoved through the door and slid them both over to Rodney. "It sucks, but eat up. You need both for it to do any good."_

_The gruel didn't do much in placating Rodney's hypoglycemia, unless he ate two bowls. Sheppard made this discovery when he forced the second bowl on McKay because his hands wouldn't stop shaking. It had now become tradition. _

_Rodney's own tradition was to leave a little in the second bowl; enough, he hoped, to keep Sheppard alive. The man was going skeletal fast and it was scaring the hell out of Rodney. His only consolation was Sheppard's unwavering energy, which he was pretty sure was the result of an endless supply of adrenaline produced by the drugs, not the two-inches of gruel still left in the bowl._

"_Lose another pound and you should be able to slip through the bars of the window," Rodney muttered, bringing the bowl to his lips. A comment here and a comment there provoked Sheppard into eating the remainder of the slop without Rodney having to argue with him. And if Sheppard didn't puke it back up later, then all the better._

Except Sheppard was a man who let snide remarks roll off his back like water over oil. Perspectives were always fresher on a full stomach. The hypoglycemia had kept Rodney weak, and Sheppard did what he could to keep Rodney from getting weaker.

Including keeping all agitation to a minimum.

The bastard hadn't done a thing for the sake of his own well being. No, not bastard. Crap, Rodney could be ungrateful sometimes, and right now he hated himself for it. Sort of like that time Jeannie got him Music by Bach instead of Beethovan, and Rodney had all but thrown the book back in her face. Although that had also been the day he'd hit his limit in terms of his musical career. No book of music, not even Beethovan, would have made him Mr. Sunshine that day.

That didn't matter. What mattered was that people doing things for him was an alien concept. Kindness toward him, sacrifice for him, had been a foreign idea that he still had some getting used to. Sheppard's friendship meant a lot to him and the thought of losing it, of losing one of the few people that called him friend back, scared him. No, _terrified_ him. Enough, sometimes, to make him physically ill. So he fell back to his usual reactions when things became too much to handle – he became pissed.

He refused to this time. Because for Sheppard to put that much effort into keeping him alive meant that Sheppard was just as scared of losing Rodney in return. The difference was, Sheppard acted on it, while McKay ranted, raved, and berated since he did better with words.

Rodney sighed. "How about one more bite... for the road. Your stomach might growl at the wrong time and alert the wrong people."

Sheppard stared at him in a penetrating, then thoughtful, way. After a moment of this, he picked up the sandwich, took a large bite, then set it back down.

"'Appy?" he said around the mouthful.

Rodney smirked. "Very."

------------------------

So now Rodney was subject to hauling both Sheppard's carcass and a small satchel of food and juice. But that same food and juice had done him a world of good, giving him energy enough to eat up a little more distance well into the evening. It was his sliver of sunshine breaking through the bleak clouds of panic. Sheppard felt heated enough to cook an egg on and he was making odd wheezing sounds every time he breathed.

The deeper Rodney dragged Sheppard into the war-torn city, the less they encountered anyone except for the occasional dirty refugee darting from hiding spot to hiding spot like spooked mice. Rodney was ready to chase them down to ask for directions, but Sheppard wouldn't let him.

"This is a war-zone, McKay. They're either going to run from you or run at you with a knife."

Sheppard had a point. But there was another little quirk of war zones in that while it tore societies apart, it also brought people together under the single goal of finding a moments peace. Rodney and John stumbled onto quite the plethora of refugees in a basement that could only be reached by wriggling through a small hole. Rodney had gone first, squirming like a half-squashed worm. Sheppard slid easily through after using his hands, caught by Rodney before he hit the floor. It was only when they were inside that they discovered they weren't alone. Women, children, and a few old men huddled in packs against the walls and corners, about eleven in all.

Rodney hauled Sheppard over to the nearest available spot and hunkered down, draping the crippled colonel across his lap.

"Your friend don't look so well."

Rodney glared at the toothless old man with rat's-nest hair taking up most of McKay's personal space. "Gee, really? I hadn't noticed despite the fact that I've been lugging his skinny ass all over this dump."

The old man snorted. "No reason to get hostile, boy."

"You should leave him," someone said. Rodney couldn't see who since the darkness and filth obscured most of the faces. "He'll slow you down, get you killed."

Rodney gritted his teeth, hard. "If I want your advice, I'll ask for it, so just keep your opinions to yourself. And you, Sheppard, don't even _start_ with me on the whole 'he's right, Rodney, leave me behind to save yourself' because it's _not_ gonna happen. You risk your ass for me so it's only fair I return the favor."

Sheppard didn't respond. McKay could feel the man trembling and each breath stutter in its course. Irate fear turned to complete fear and Rodney slid his hand to Sheppard's neck to feel the pulse that was too fast. "John?"

"I'm c-cold, Rodney."

Rodney closed his eyes and eased his head back into the unforgiving wall. "I know, Sheppard. I know. I'll find a way to get you warm soon, I promise."

"_I've lived in Antarctica, Rodney, I'm used to the cold. So just take my damn jacket so you don't freeze to death."_

_Rodney shoved the jacket back toward Sheppard. "I was born and raised in Canada and I have more natural padding than you, so you take it. I'm fine."_

"_Then why are you shaking?"_

_Rodney wrapped his arms tighter around himself. "Because if you haven't already noticed, Colonel, we're getting the crap beat out of us by a bunch of one-track-mind terrorists who prefer guilt over innocence and get a kick out of making us bleed. I'm freakin' terrified and I hurt and _that's _why I'm shaking. So just drop it!"_

_The silence was uncomfortably absolute but Rodney didn't care. He hunched against the wall and closed his eyes to get some sleep. He counted to fifty before he felt the slight weight of Sheppard's jacket against his back. Okay, so Rodney was a little cold, but Sheppard really did need it more. He would placate the colonel for now, wait until he was asleep to give the jacket back. Except Rodney drifted off first and didn't wake up until their tormentors dropped by for another session._

--------------------------

The refugees said the gate wouldn't be guarded. When it came to the conflicts, what mattered was taking control of the city and its government body. The fate of its citizens depended on whether those citizens stayed or left. It had been this way for thousands of years, and those who escaped through the ring usually didn't return.

"Then how do you know they're still alive?" Rodney had countered.

"Well, they do sometimes drop by hoping to find loved ones or for a visit with friends, they just don't stick around, especially if they found someplace better," the toothless old man had replied. It all sounded... _weird_, Rodney wasn't sure why. He supposed because it had been going on for so long the locals were used to it enough to escape only to pop back in for a quick drink with buddies no matter who was in control. This had to be the stupidest war they had ever come across, although not as stupid as that one war incited because the planet's leaders were bored. Now _that_ had been messed up.

Rodney had had to enlist the refugees' help to get Sheppard out of the basement, then they parted picking their own paths through the rubble. McKay had something new to worry about today. Sheppard wouldn't eat anything, wouldn't drink, and had yet to speak. The only noise he made was the occasional moan or whimper, either from the fever or having his broken ribs pressed into Rodney's back.

The only plus for the day was the rubble and buildings diminishing as the metropolis gave way to the country, concrete fading into trees and grass. The stargate had been in a grassy field on a small dais, so they had to be close.

Thunder rolled softly and cool rain spat in Rodney's face. He staggered drunkenly off the muddy path through underbrush and sticking shrubs until he stumbled on a shelf of rock jutting from a broken hill with room underneath to take shelter. He sat in the usual configuration with Sheppard across his lap to keep him off the cold, moist dirt. The wet air would be enough to keep his fever down, and the smidgen of warmth from Rodney's own legs would be enough to keep Sheppard from complaining, if he decided to complain. If he _could _complain

Rain pattered softly against leaves and on the ground in individual beads of silver, then burst into a solid curtain of water. It was kind of hypnotic to watch and listen to; soothing, refreshing to breathe in. Nature's cleanser. Rodney closed his eyes and lifted his head for the wet breezes to dry the sweat on his neck. His hand pulled back when he leaned back, sliding from Sheppard's protruding ribs to his protruding spine. Rodney didn't want to look down at the bones trying to rip through paper-thin skin, at the lacerations, the burns, the bruises...

And yet his brain seemed in the mood to spite him, so he looked anyways, eyes going straight for the lord of all bruises still as dark as the day it was made.

_A punch to the face, a kick to the knees, then a one-two to the kidneys. Rodney felt like bawling._

"_What the hell is wrong with you people!" he gasped on a sob instead. "We told you, over and over and over. Shouldn't there be a point where you start to believe us?!"_

_His abuser just smiled and shrugged in mock apology, then circled Rodney looking for a fresh spot to plant another blow._

_That's when the building rocked, raining dusty plaster down on their heads. The abuser's smug satisfaction jumped to bewildered surprise, then fear when the building shook again. Orders were barked in a chattery alien language. One man ran out. The building shuddered hard sending those standing to the floor. _

_All hell eventually broke lose, men running in and out of the room, shouting, alarms blaring, until Rodney ended up alone with the door wide open. For the first time in his life, McKay didn't think, he just acted. He ran from the room just to spin around the empty hall trying to figure out where he needed to go. He ended up running back and forth checking room after room, pushing past armed soldiers who no longer gave a damn about him._

"_Sheppard? Sheppard!" He yanked another door open, "Shep...!" and looked down. "...ard. Oh, gosh!"_

_Sheppard crawled toward him dragging lifeless legs. He lifted himself up onto his trembling arms and raised his head to meet Rodney's stricken gaze. John's ashen face was wet. Tears - although they might have been tears of pain. But Sheppard's terror Rodney couldn't find an excuse for._

"_I can't feel my legs, Rodney." John sucked in a broken breath. "I can't... I can't feel them."_

_Rodney was pretty sure what he was seeing was Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, broken and panicked. _

McKay had never found out – not really wanting to ask – if Sheppard's spinal injury had been an accident by an overzealous guard or on purpose. He really didn't want to know, but had it figured for the latter, being a perfect power play and all. What better way to shove one's immature superiority in someone's face by taking away their ability to walk?

Rodney closed his eyes with the intent to doze. He jerked awake at the sudden silence, opening his eyes to a twilight morning. His hand went immediately to Sheppard's neck and its fluttery but very present pulse. With a sigh of both relief and woe for all the lugging that lay ahead, Rodney tossed back a swig of juice, shove a crust of bread into his mouth, then did a lot of painful maneuvering to heft Sheppard onto his back. He crawled out from under the overhang and straightened, adjusting John's limp body higher onto his shoulders.

McKay slogged through mud and soaked moss splashing his pant-legs to eventually soak through his socks into his boots, making his feet itch. He wasn't quite sure where he was going, and assumed blind luck or subconscious memory being the culprit behind him finding the now soggy and slippery road. A scattering of stumbling, shivering, wailing refugees guided him in the direction to go. He followed the outcasts for a time, letting them move on ahead, mumbling sarcastic thank-yous for the lack of offers given to remove Rodney of his burden. Not that he would have let them. He'd have probably bitten their fingers off before he let anyone touch Sheppard. But it's the thought that counts and McKay would have appreciated the consideration.

The day remained cool and overcast throughout, smelling of water and wood instead of smoke. Rodney was grateful but found complaining passed the time better.

" Too... damn... humid... Isn't... Florida..." he panted. Most of the heat making him sweat was coming off of Sheppard. The pilot was a lump of useless, sticky flesh and bone adhering to his back like that protective plastic his aunt would cover her furniture with. Rodney hated it. It was making his back itch and just plain grossing him out.

"You owe me one, Colonel. You _so_ owe me one. "

"Rod-ney?"

McKay sneered. "What!"

"My legs... still can't feel... my legs. What if..."

Rodney slowed and immediately sobered. Sheppard's breath puffed hot, rapid, and unsteady against his shoulder.

"...can't walk. What if..."

Rodney increased the speed of his pace. "No, you'll walk. You're too stubborn not to."

"What if..."

"Colonel! Just... drop it! It's just a bunch of 'what ifs' and I hate what ifs. So quit trying to speculate and go to sleep or something. At least one of us should have the luxury of pretending this is all a bad dream."

Maybe Sheppard had listened or maybe he had just passed out, but at least he wasn't speculating out loud anymore. John remained mute the rest of the walk and McKay suddenly preferred the 'what ifs' since it meant the pilot had been conscious and fine.

"So, uh..." Rodney began, hoping to start a little idle chatter, but couldn't think of a dang thing to talk about. So he concentrated on the steady tapping of Sheppard's heart against his shoulder blade to keep from stopping every two minutes to check the man's pulse.

It came as a shock when the forest opened up into a field of ankle-high grass and the stargate rising up out of the plant life on its stone dais. The breath rushed from Rodney's lungs in a gasp and a sob of indescribable, body-numbing relief that nearly had him dropping Sheppard.

"Finally!" Rodney yelped, hot tears cutting through the grime on his face. Elation poured adrenaline into his body enough for him to jog toward salvation. And, as if fate had finally decided to grant Rodney a good day, instead of guards or some ridiculously large army surrounding the gate, it was refugees packing in to head out on the nearest wormhole. Most piled through to whatever address was activated. Rodney joined the swiftly moving line, waited until the last group had gone through, then closed the gate to dial the alpha site.

"What world are you summoning, stranger?" a man asked.

"Don't know it's name, but if you don't like it you're free to dial elsewhere on the other side."

The 'gate flushed to life and Rodney led the way through. The alpha site was currently devoid of any Atlantis personnel since it was monsoon season and the weather didn't make it ideal for sticking around. But there was always a group or two that dropped by, either to make sure the place was still safe or to study the ruins.

The refugees weren't happy with the rainy weather so decided to try someplace else. Rodney let them, heading over to the ruins to take shelter in what could only be called the main lobby of the crumbling stone edifice. He eased Sheppard onto one of the rock benches against the wall, on his side to push the man's legs up to his chest and make a little room. Rodney sat at Sheppard's head keeping one hand on the over-heated and bony shoulder; letting Sheppard know he was still their, and letting himself know Sheppard was still alive. Rain slapped the muddy ground and thrummed off the roof, hiding the world behind a shimmering sheet of silver.

Rodney tilted his head back against the cool wall and listened. Sheppard shivered beneath his hand.

"Ro'ney?"

"Yeah?"

"I think... I... I'm – I'm... scared."

Rodney's throat constricted until it hurt. "You'll walk again."

"Not if they... come back..." Sheppard shot out a quaking hand gathering a fist-full of Rodney's sleeve. He lifted his unsteady head, wide-eyed and utterly delirious in the way he stared at the door. "They're coming back. Oh, gosh, they're coming, they're coming, their coming..." he shrank, trembling, against the wall, tears tracking fast down his dirty face. "They're coming, they're coming, they're coming. I can't run, Rodney, I can't, I can't, help me, please, make them stop, don't let them... don't let them break my back again, please..."

Rodney's heart hammered making it hard to breathe, and his own terror was about to match Sheppard's because he had no idea how to calm the sick man down.

"Uh... um..." he stammered, then slide from his seat to drop to his knees and scuttle around, facing the frantic pilot. He took Sheppard by his upper arms and squeezed tight. "Sheppard, look at me." His voice squeaked, tight with burned-out nerves.

John looked, even if his gaze was so unfocused it gave Rodney second thoughts as to whether anyone was home. He brought his face in close, staring hard and resolute while on the inside all he wanted to do was crawl into the nearest dark hole and sleep for days. He had no doubt anything he had to say would only make matters worse, but he said something anyways since he didn't have much of a choice. "No one's taking you, all right? No one's going to hurt you, I promise. I won't let them."

To McKay's total amazement, a sickly smile broke out on Sheppard's pale face. "You won't?"

"No, I won't."

Sheppard laughed manically and sobbed hysterically at the same time. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

Rodney released Sheppard's arms so he could wipe the tears from his own face. "Yeah, sure, no problem." Since when had anyone created enough impact on Rodney McKay to make him cry? Not counting when he was a kid and the older kids invented creative ways to send him bawling home to mom. Crap, he hated this. Hated all the uncertainty and the hurt and horror and bad crap that turned a normally strong-willed and resilient man into a frightened, child-like mess. He hated even more having to be witness to it, because it was going to humiliate the hell out of Sheppard. McKay wasn't cut out for trauma. He could barely handle his own let alone someone else's.

And yet he didn't regret being here, which he found odd.

No, not odd. Of course he didn't regret being here. The torture and pain and having to drag another human-being through a war-ravaged country-side he would easily wish on someone else. But he'd never really been able to comfort someone before, let them know they were safe and have them believe it, and it felt good. Good enough to balance out the pain of having to comfort and assure in the first place. He actually liked being there for someone else, and it made it even better with that someone else being a guy who had been, and always would be, there for him.

McKay shifted around to lean his back against the bench, stretching his legs out crossing one ankle over the other. Sheppard's shaking hand reached out to clutch the cloth of the shoulder of the physicist's shirt. Rodney reached up to give Sheppard's wrist a quick squeeze.

"I'm right here, pal, keeping watch, not going anywhere."

Sheppard's reply was a small, heart-felt, "Thank you."

--------------------------

It wasn't sudden silence this time, it was a myriad of voices that snapped Rodney awake. He lifted his head to see that the rain had stopped and a group of five people – two marines and three scientists - were splashing over the water-logged ground toward the temple. The first marine to enter whipped out his P-90 only to gradually lower it in gaping shock.

"Dr. McKay?"

Rodney felt Sheppard flinch then heard him whimper. He reached back, stretching until his hand found the pilot's skinny arm to pat it. "It's okay Sheppard, you're okay." He glared at the group now gathered just inside the ruins. "Yeah it's me. What the hell took you people so long!" Anger morphed abruptly into hysterical laughter.

Twenty minutes later a jumper arrived complete with Carson and an added bonus of Ronon, Teyla, and Dr. Weir. Rodney was back on the bench gripping Sheppard's shoulders to keep him from taking off, leaning in close to the sick man's ear to maintain a litany of assurances. Sheppard was rocking back and forth, muttering, shaking, and periodically trying to cough up a lung. He flinched when Carson knelt in front of him, then started begging for his back not to be broken when the Scottish doctor touched him. Beckett looked up at Rodney.

"His back?"

Rodney swallowed the lump in his throat. "They – they hurt his back."

It took a lot of coaxing and promising just for Sheppard to allow Beckett to give him a sedative, even when he realized it was Beckett who was in front of him. John was gently strapped to a back-board and loaded onto the jumper with Rodney right behind. Once everyone was on board, the jumper closed, the gate activated, and the little ship shot through the wormhole. Rodney grinned like an inebriate the moment they emerged.

"Finally," he breathed, wheezed a tiny laugh, then promptly passed out.

----------------------

"Heaven, absolute heaven. Seriously, this is, like, the best cupcake I have ever tasted."

Zelenka folded his arms. "Rodney, it is a Hostess cupcake. You have had many of them."

Rodney just shrugged. "Still the best dessert I've had in a long time." He shoved the last bite into his mouth, dusted his hands, then waggled his fingers. "All right, give me. Where are we with the algorithm that should boost the energy out-put to that dead sector of the city?"

Radek rolled his eyes and took a breath, about to speak. McKay was all ready to listen when he spotted Carson slapping X-rays onto the light-board. It was a good thing the Ancient scanners produced such crisp hard-copies, because Beckett really liked relying on them. These particular X-rays were of the spinal variety.

"Uh," Rodney said. "On second thought, let's talk later. Now move it." He waved Radek aside, barely registering the Czek's second eye-roll before the man departed.

"Hey, Carson," Rodney called.

Beckett didn't look at him, being too intent on the X-rays. "Yes, Rodney?"

McKay twisted the hem of the blanket through his fingers. "Um... how-how-how're things looking? I mean, is Sheppard...? Is his back..?"

"Better," Beckett said. "The swelling's gone down quite a bit. He should be fine."

"And you know this for a fact?"

Beckett pulled the hard-copies from the board and slipped them into an envelope. "Nothing's a one-hundred percent certainty when it comes to the human body, Rodney, but I give the colonel a good eighty/eighty-five percent chance he'll be able to walk again. Though it'll not be easy for him."

"I imagine not. But knowing him, he'll make it happen eventually."

"Aye, probably."

Rodney snorted and eased back into his pillows. "No probably about it."

Beckett handed the envelope to a nurse then moved to McKay's bed, taking up his chart. "So you really carried the lad all that way? With your own broken bones to moan over and everything?"

Rodney smirked, folding his hands behind his head. "Yep."

"That explains the back-strain." Carson looked up. "I'm actually quite impressed."

"Well, it's not like he weighed all that much."

"Aye, but still," Carson's gaze dropped back to the chart. "Looks like you'll be heading out of here tonight. But if I hear of you hovering about your labs, your arse will be back in here so fast you could end up leaving a part of it behind."

Rodney scowled. "Was that a pun? Please tell me that wasn't a pun. And jeez, Carson, would you like to take away my cake-eating privileges while you're at it? Because I heard their serving chocolate cake in honor of our return and it might be one more simple pleasure of life you'll want to ban me from since you're on such a roll."

Beckett smiled, jotting something onto the chart. "Still ever the _cheeky_ bugger."

Rodney groaned.

Carson chuckled. "You're free to eat a _moderate_ serving of cake."

"Define moderate. A sliver or two slices only?"

"A slice, any size so long as it remains smaller than the plate. Way smaller."

"Fine. What about Sheppard? He ready for cake yet?"

"No, he's not, but Dr. Weir's going to make sure there will be a cake for him when he's ready."

Rodney grinned. "Good. The man needs calories before some chimney sweeper mistakes him for a flue-brush."

"Speaking of the colonel," Carson said. He hooked the chart back onto Rodney's bed, then left, only to return a minute later accompanying the nurse wheeling Sheppard back from his little trip to the balcony for some fresh air. They helped him from the chair to the bed making sure he didn't get tangled in the I.V. lines. The skinny pilot sank into the mattress as though about to be swallowed up in it. He was languid and drowsy as Beckett ran through his vitals: listening to heart and lungs, checking his blood pressure, taking his temperature, and so on. Beckett promised Sheppard a cup of broth, sent a nurse to fetch it, then wandered off to take care of his other witch-doctorly duties.

Rodney stared at John. The only improvement to the man was that his cheeks weren't so flushed. But there was still all that frailty, those jutting bones, sunken eyes, fading bruises, and anemia. Oh, and the complete lack of movement from his legs. Rodney looked away. Carson hadn't said whether or not carrying Sheppard around had made things worse. He hadn't even said if there was a possibility, probably just to spare feelings. It didn't seem possible that all that jostling and shifting hadn't affected John's spine in some way. It was plain common sense you didn't man-handle someone with a back-injury.

If Sheppard didn't walk, then Rodney was going to be the one speculating the 'what-ifs' to his wits end.

"Carson says I'm getting out of here tonight," he blurted for reasons unknown even to him. Of the many possible conversation starters to distract himself from his guilt, he just had to go for the one that made him sound like he was bragging.

"Good for you," John said, and seemed sincere about it.

"Yeah, well, it would be if he hadn't banned me from my own labs. Which wouldn't bother me except we've been gone so long and thinking of the mess that might have been made in my absence is going to drive me crazy."

"Mm-hmm."

Rodney looked over at Sheppard. The pilot's eyelids were fluttering and his chin kept trying to drop to his chest. McKay sighed and clamped his mouth shut, closing his eyes just to be closing them.

"Hey McKay, check this out."

Rodney opened his eyes, returning his gaze back to a tiredly grinning Sheppard who was pointing at his feet. McKay shifted his gaze again, staring. "What?"

The blanket twitched where Sheppard's big-toe was. Rodney's eyebrows shot upward. "Cool."

"Beckett's confident I'll be showing a lot more improvement."

"Good. Because, next time, you're carrying me."

Sheppard chuckled quietly. "Only if I can find a wagon or a wheel-barrow or something."

Rodney huffed. "Oh, yes, that was such a luxury for me but I decided not to go with it since pointless machoism makes the women swoon. No. You'll be carrying me up a hill, both ways, and through the snow. It's only fair since I got the war-zone."

"I suppose so," John said. He looked down at his lap, fiddling with the loose thread of his blanket. "Thanks for that, by the way. Carrying me... and stuff. I know it wasn't easy..."

Rodney gave John a dismissive flap of his hand. "Just returning the favor, which you'll be sure to do next time, right?"

John smiled. "Always."

Rodney nodded. "Good."

Sheppard finally succumbed to the need for sleep, his eyes sliding shut and his breathing evening out. McKay started feeling a little drowsy himself seeing the peaceful contentment on that thin face. He exhaled a relaxed breath, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes.

"So will I."

The End


End file.
